Song of Her Heart. Irene Brand

to admit that I find it hard to forgive them for being so insensitive to my needs.”

      “It does seem as if they could have helped.”

      Norah leaned back and closed her eyes. “You would think so, but they didn’t. In fact, they compounded my problem by using me as a baby-sitter. They knew I’d always be at home, so they brought their children to me for an afternoon, a day, sometimes as long as a week while they went on vacation. It didn’t seem to occur to them that I might like a break. My father took over so I could attend church services, but I didn’t even do that after Billy’s health worsened.”

      “Sounds like your siblings are selfish.”

      She opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, they are. And they’re so mad at me now that they won’t speak to me. My father willed the family home to me, and they didn’t mind at all because they thought the situation would continue as always. But I put the house up for sale several weeks ago. I might use the money from selling the house to go to college, but that depends on whether I’m too old to still realize my dream.”

      Mason slanted a speculative glance in her direction. “So that’s why they’re mad at you!”

      “Yes. Their free baby-sitter is gone.” She paused, thinking of the quarrel she’d had with her family. “The things they said to me hurt deeply—words that I find hard to forgive.”

      “Sounds to me like you’ve done enough for them.”

      “I suppose so, but I keep remembering that Jesus taught His followers to be servants. He said once, ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ And the Apostle Paul made a strong point when he said, ‘Serve one another in love.’ So I’m probably a disobedient Christian by resenting the years I spent serving my family.”

      “I assume your siblings are Christians, too. Looks like serving ought to work both ways,” Mason argued in her defense.

      “I’ve tried to justify my attitude, using the same line of reasoning, but my conscience makes me wonder if the mission field God had in mind for me was serving in my own home. I did my duty by taking care of Dad and my brother, but maybe I was doing it for the wrong reasons.”

      “I don’t believe that for a minute,” Mason said. “I’ve only known you for a short time, but I’m convinced you’re a loving, compassionate woman.”

      “Thanks, Mason. I’d like to believe that, but when I take an introspective look at myself, I don’t like what I see. I pray that this summer’s work will give me a new perspective on what God wants me to do. With all my heart, I want to accept His will for my life.”

      Mason watched the play of emotions on Norah’s face, and as she sat with eyes downcast, he wanted to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. But now wasn’t the time. Nor would it be appropriate to tell Norah that the longer he was around her, the more he liked what he saw.

      Chapter Four

      The two dogs jumped on Mason as he and Norah exited the door the next morning. He wrestled playfully with them for a few minutes.

      “Okay, you guys are in charge,” he said. “We’ll be gone most of the day. I’m taking Norah on a tour of the county.”

      He opened the truck door for Norah. There wasn’t a running board, which meant she had to manage a step of almost two feet to get into the vehicle. Mason pushed back his hat and scratched his head, a habitual gesture of his.

      “Well, now!” he said. “I swing into the truck seat like I mount a horse. That is a big step for a lady.”

      Without a word, he put his arms around Norah’s waist and effortlessly placed her on the seat. She sensed the warmth of his large hands through her shirt.

      “If I’m going to ride in your truck, you’ll have to bring a ladder along for me,” she said, when he swung into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

      Grinning provocatively, he said lazily, “Oh, I don’t know. I kinda liked the way we did it this morning.”

      Flustered, Norah looked out the window and waved a hand at the dogs, who were standing downhearted, tails between their legs, watching them leave.

      “The dogs like to ride in the truck, but not when I leave the ranch.”

      “What’re their names?”

      “Pete and Repeat.”

      “What!”

      “I got them when they were pups. They’re from the same litter and almost identical, so I thought those were good names. They’re good hunters. We have lots of water fowl in this area.”

      Mason threaded his fingers through his bushy beard. “I don’tknow if I can stand these whiskers for six more weeks. They’re about to drive me crazy.”

      “Then you don’t usually wear whiskers?”

      “Never have before! Ranchers in this end of the county gather on the Fourth of July for horse racing, fireworks, music, ox roast—that sort of thing. We try to revive the Old West for a day. We give prizes for the most authentic costumes, and for riding contests. But last year, somebody came up with the crazy idea of having a beard-growing contest to see who could grow the most outstanding beard from New Year’s Day to the Fourth of July. I didn’t mind it so much when the weather was cold, but whiskers are too hot for summer. I’m tempted to shave now and be done with it.”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Norah said as the truck whizzed past the spot where she’d had the encounter with Buster.

      “Do you like my whiskers?” he asked, a quizzical expression in his eyes.

      A flash of humor spread across her face. “Not particularly, but you’ve put up with them this long, you shouldn’t give up now. They might not be so bad if you’d trim them.”

      “I might as well shave completely as trim the beard. We’re judged on who has the longest and thickest whiskers.”

      “Then, by all means, don’t trim them. I believe in finishing what you start. Since you’ve had the whiskers for almost five months, you might as well keep them on until after the contest.”

      They met a few other pickups as they traveled northward toward Valentine, and Norah noticed that all the male drivers had beards.

      “Where do you have the celebration?”

      “Each rancher takes turns hosting the event, and it’ll be at the Flying K this summer. A committee plans the day’s activities, so all I have to do is supply the place and the meat. I’ll provide a steer.”

      “Sounds like fun.”

      “You’re invited to come. Ranchers’ clothes haven’t changed much in the last hundred years, but the women wear vintage outfits. I think you can rent costumes in Valentine.”

      “I’d like to be there, but it will depend on my duties for Horses and Healing.”

      “I don’t believe they’re in session during the holiday week,” he said. “I’d like for you to be my hostess for the occasion.”

      “What does a hostess have to do?”

      “Welcome people to the party by serving coffee or soft drinks when they arrive. Mostly, just see that everyone has a good time. Since I live alone, my guests have always fended for themselves when they came to the Flying K.”

      “I’ll consider it. How many attend?”

      “Fifty to seventy-five. We aren’t heavily populated in this part of the state.”

      Mason had attended all of the celebrations. The miles passed quickly as he entertained Norah with amusing anecdotes of past years.

      When they entered the outskirts of Valentine, Mason said, “The town is known as Nebraska’s Heart